


Tea Party

by FullmetalDetective (MusicianInTraining)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluffy, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One-Shot, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicianInTraining/pseuds/FullmetalDetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia Holmes' third-grade homeroom teacher is throwing a little tea party for all the girls in the class and their mothers to attend together. But there's just one problem: Olivia does not have a mommy to take with her...but she does have two loving fathers to pick from. Surely one of them would be willing to have tea with her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Party

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a cutesy little thing I wrote up the other night when I got bored. Enjoy the antics presented to you! :)
> 
> BBC's Sherlock (c) Steven Moffat & Mark Gatiss

**_Tea Party_ **

The bell rang just as Olivia circled letter ‘D’ as her final answer choice of her grammar test, smiling as she handed it in to her teacher as the lady passed by her little desk. She had been fretting about this particular weekly test to her Daddy, mildly complaining that the A- she got on her test last week was going to jinx her for this week (though he insisted to her that an A- was still an A regardless of what symbol it had to the right of it, Olivia hated the imperfection). But her father had been right; she knew this stuff like the back of her hand. Just because last week was an off-week for test-taking, does not mean that the next week would not be a better one. As always, he was right, for this test had much smaller paragraphs and much shorter questions to answer, leaving her feeling more than confident in her impending A+.

“Don’t forget, girls,” the teacher piped up, placing the pile of tests in her arms upon her large desk and scooping up a stack of bright pink slips in their place. “The mother-daughter tea party is this Friday afternoon at Matthews Arboretum!”

Olivia cocked her head to the side, thinking as she stuffed her pencils into her backpack. It was a good idea for Mrs. Lauridsen—her third grade homeroom teacher—to schedule a nice little get-together for them and their parents on the day they had off from school. She liked the idea of having a reason to dress fancy and drink tea in a garden with her friends. But there was one word that made her pink lips turn downwards: _mother._

“Mrs. Lauri,” Olivia said, addressing her teacher by the nickname her class had given her rather than by her full name as she meekly approached with her bag slung over one shoulder. Her fair-haired instructor turned away from the whiteboard she was cleaning off and smiled sweetly down at her.

“What can I do for you, Olivia?” she said, picking up a pink slip and handing it to the bright-eyed girl.

“Well, I was wondering,” Olivia began to speak but stopped short as she looked at the hand-out in her hand, not sure how to phrase what she was going to tell her teacher. Mrs. Lauridsen waited patiently, feeling slightly confused about the usually outspoken girl’s sudden quietness. Finally, Olivia looked back up at her teacher and asked: “Could I bring my Daddy to this instead?”

Mrs. Lauridsen blinked.

“Well,” she said, “Sure, I don’t have a problem with that…but why wouldn’t you want to bring your mother?”

“Well,” Olivia replied, looking down at her feet. “It’s just that I don’t have a mum, Mrs. Lauri.”

 _Oh_ , the teacher thought, mentally wincing at her unintentional insensitivity as she recalled the student’s particularly…unique family life. She made up for it with a big smile and said brightly:

“Well then, I do hope to see you and your father there on Friday, Olivia.”

Olivia looked up at her and smiled hugely.

“We’ll be there,” she spoke, her dark brown curls bouncing as she followed the rest of her class out of the classroom. “Bye, Mrs. Lauri!” she called over her shoulder, leaving the woman to finish cleaning off the whiteboard with a content smile upon her face.

Olivia was still smiling as she made her way down the hallway to where the rest of her class met up outside of the school with another teacher and her class to wait for their parents. Since her elementary school was actually rather close to their flat, Olivia and Daddy Holmes—who was usually the one who picked her up every day from school—and had a bad habit of being late every day—just walked home together provided the weather was not bad enough to urge them into a cab. Today, however, it was not Daddy Holmes standing outside in the dim sunlight waiting for her, but—

“Daddy!” Olivia shouted giddily, running up to John Watson with her arms outstretched for a hug. John laughed as he knelt on one knee to embrace her, taking her backpack in order to carry it for her.

“Weren’t expecting me to get you today, were you?” John asked his little girl, smiling as he offered her his outstretched palm. She took it happily, squeezing him playfully as she shook her head.

“You’re usually working.”

“I know, darling,” he said, squinting up and down the road before leading his little girl across it. “Good thing I got off early, too; you’re father wasn’t home when I got back to the flat.”

“Probably out on a case, y’know,” Olivia said pointedly. John looked down at her:

“Trust me, I know.”

Olivia’s grin grew at the expression on her Daddy’s face. Even though he would roll his eyes and act like Sherlock annoyed him, she knew that he would like nothing more than to be out there with Daddy Holmes chasing down criminals. She was grateful that he chose to spend some time with her instead, making her feel extremely special to be chosen over Sherlock Holmes.

“Oh, look at this,” she said as she remembered the (now slightly-crumpled) slip of bright pink paper in her hand. “It’s a party,” she informed him as he took the slip from her little hand.

“’Mother-daughter class tea party,’” John read aloud.

“Yes, but Mrs. Lauri said I could bring a Daddy,” Olivia said matter-of-factly. John grinned slightly as being referred to as ‘a Daddy,’ then dropped his expression after reading the date and time. “I’m sorry, ‘Livvy, but I’m working this Friday afternoon.”

He looked at her and said:

“Ask your father when he gets back; he’ll be able to go with you, probably.”

Olivia frowned slightly, her bottom lip puckering.

“But will he want to go…?” she asked, looking up at John with a questioning gaze. John squeezed his little girl’s hand gently, offering her a smile as he handed back her tea party invitation.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said with a wink as they finally stopped in front of 221B Baker Street.   

~•~•☺•~•~

“Lestrade, I’ve got your address, just _hold on_!” Sherlock’s voice boomed from down the stairs, making both John and Olivia look up from their books. John glanced in the direction of the staircase as Sherlock ran up it taking two steps at a time. “Where is it…” he muttered hurriedly under his breath.

“Where’s what?” John asked curiously.

“An address— _the_ address—I wrote it down before I left, knowing it was important,” he spoke, his words running together due to the sheer speed of his speech. He rustled through the papers on his desk, whispering as he retraced his steps.

“Wrote it down, took it with me to the couch to find the photograph, then went into the kitchen, then…”

“Hello, Daddy Holmes,” Olivia greeted Sherlock as he walked into the kitchen. He paused for a split second in his memory work to stop by his daughter’s seat at the kitchen table and plant a kiss upon her head.

“Hello, love…” he did not move from his spot for a long moment before suddenly snapping his gloved fingers together. “On the table, _that’s_ right, obviously.”

Olivia watched as he moved to the opposite side of the table from her and looked through a stack of papers next to his microscope. “ _Ahah_!” he said, pulling out a sticky note from the pile and shooting her a triumphant grin before running back out of the room and dashing back down the stairs.

John heard him exchange with Lestrade:

“Here. You’ll find the thief here with two other accomplices; one of them is Jonathan Greenwood—he’s the tech guy who got him into the museum’s system in the first place—and the other’s Carol Willington. I don’t think it would be necessary to surround the place, they seem to be _asking_ to get taken into custody by the sheer obviousness of their methods.”

“How did you manage all _that_ in under four hours?” Lestrade said incredulously.

John looked at over at his daughter with an impressed look on his face. Olivia cocked her head to the side and mouthed: _How long_?

 _Four hours_ , John mouthed back, holding up four fingers and grinning at the equally impressed look on his little girl’s face.

“Is that a new record?” she asked, to which John shook his head.

“The shortest time I can recall is under a minute.”

“Wow…” she said in awe. “I want to be smart like Daddy Holmes!”

 _Don’t we all_ , John thought, but instead shook his head.

“You already are, ‘Livvy.”

“Well, that was dull,” Sherlock spoke as he trundled back up the stairs after sending Lestrade off to the address in question. John looked back at the detective, watching him methodically take his coat, gloves and scarf off.

“You’re not going with him?”

“Why should I,” Sherlock said boredly, plopping down onto the sofa next to John and leaning his body lazily back against his side. John rolled his eyes, tugging the book his was reading out from underneath Sherlock. “This barely constituted as a five. I merely did it because I owed the museum director a favor.”

“Ah,” John said. “Well, good thing I got off of work early today, or else you would’ve been…” he glanced up at the clock, “an hour and fourteen minutes late to picking up Olivia.”

“She never minds my lateness so long as I can entertain her with a new crime story on the way home,” Sherlock pointed out. “Isn’t that right, Olivia?” he called to his daughter.

“Yes, Daddy,” Olivia agreed. “But I think the principal might get a bit angry if you took that long.”

John shot Sherlock a knowing look, to which the consulting detective could only sigh. Twice already that semester had Olivia been stuck in the principal’s office late after school waiting for her father to pick her up, and unfortunately for the Watson-Holmes household, Principal Edward Yorkins was not too fond of tardiness.

Olivia shut her math textbook. “Done,” she announced, gathering up her homework and sticking it back in her backpack. “Can we eat dinner now?” she inquired of her fathers.

John looked down at the lazy Sherlock now lounging across his lap.

“Shall we go out tonight or just order take-out?” he asked his partner. Sherlock waved the question away, muttering muffledly against John’s leg: “I’m not moving, I’m comfortable.”

“Take-out it is then,” he said, looking back at his daughter. “Toss me my phone?”

“Here,” she handed him his cell as she made her way up the stairs to put her schoolwork away in her bedroom. While she was out of the room, John looked back at Sherlock.

“I need to speak to you about something quick before she gets back,” he hissed at the man.

“Hmm,” Sherlock inquired, still not moving.

“There’s a mother-daughter tea party on Friday and she wants one of us to go with her, Sherlock.”

At this Sherlock lifted his head from John’s lap.

“A _tea-party_?”

“Yes,” John said. “It’s a tea party at Matthews Arboretum for all the girls in Olivia’s class to go with their mothers to.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m the mother in this relationship, John?” Sherlock asked dully, rolling over so that he was now face-up in John’s lap.

“ _No_ ,” John said, rolling his eyes. “What I’m saying is that Olivia got special permission from her teacher to take a Daddy with her instead, and since I will unfortunately be working that afternoon, you are the nominated Daddy for this particular function.”

“Do I have any say in this?” Sherlock asked, closing his eyes.

“You can say ‘yes,’” John said, to which he was greeted with silence. The doctor sighed, running a hand through Sherlock’s curls as he pointed out:

“She’s your little girl, Sherlock,” he pointed out. “And she wants to spend time with you. Humor me, for once, will you?”

“My job as your husband is not to humor you, John, it is to shag you,” Sherlock stated simply, to which John face-palmed.

“Must you be so tacky…?”

“Yes,” Sherlock steamrolled on, rising from John’s lap as he considered his options. He did not have time to answer John now, however, for at that moment Olivia ran back down the stairs and up to the sofa where her fathers were seated.

“Can we have Chinese tonight?” she asked brightly.

“Of course, I’ll make the call right now,” John said as he got up to get the menu from the kitchen. “Your usual?”

“Yes, please,” Olivia said, hopping onto the couch next to her Daddy Holmes and grabbing the TV remote off of the floor. She put it on a James Bond movie she had seen before with her Daddy Watson and instead focused her attention on Sherlock. “The Queen’s Gallery or the Old Operating Theatre Museum?”

Sherlock looked down at his daughter in amusement.

“…The Queen’s Gallery. How did you know?” he egged her on.

“I remembered you taking cases from both of those museums before so I said those two.”

“Good,” Sherlock praised Olivia. “Good memory skills.”

Olivia grinned up at him.

“That’s not all,” she continued, pulling her legs up under her and facing her father. “The Inspector said that you had solved the case in less than four hours and you only labeled it as a five, so obviously it wasn’t a murder or something of bigger concern. Either theft or an attack of some kind. With the museum being constantly mentioned it must have been a break-in. Both of the museums I mentioned have really high security, so to do a daylight robbery—which I’m guessing is what that was since the thieves were still at their getaway address, or so you think they are—that’s the address you gave to the Inspector—would require multiple people; one for tech, one to distract and the third to rob, of course.

“Now, you not only got that but you also got who the people were by looking at tiny clues left behind and looking at old news reports to put together the right team of people,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen table where there was, in fact, not only his microscope but also a large stack of old newspaper articles and clippings, some looking a bit more worse for wear as if he dug them out of a recycle bin somewhere. “Based on that you were able to intercept their phone calls on your computer and track down their getaway address for the Inspector.”

Olivia narrowed her sparkling blue eyes at Sherlock Holmes.

“And you did all of that in four hours,” she said in awe.

Sherlock and John (who had gotten off the phone with the Chinese take-out place in the middle of his nine-year-old’s deductions) were now gaping at their daughter. Sure, she had done this before, but her skills and her vocabulary keep progressing with each case she examines of Sherlock’s, always managing to take both of her fathers by surprise every time.

“Brilliant,” Sherlock breathed, looking up and smiling triumphantly up at John. “She’s brilliant like her father,” he shamelessly bragged, wrapping an arm around Olivia’s shoulders and hugging her to his side. John raised an eyebrow: “I wonder which father you could _possibly_ be referring to…” he muttered sarcastically, turning to put the take-out menu away.

After their food arrived, they brought out trays from the kitchen and lounged on the sofa watching Bond, Olivia nestled in between John and Sherlock. At some point during their rice eating and noodle slurping, Olivia looked up at John, a question in her eyes. John saw immediately that she was quietly asking whether or not now was a good time to mention the tea party to Sherlock, to which he glanced up at Sherlock (who was examining a piece of General Tsao’s chicken menacingly), smirked and then nodded back at his daughter.

“Daddy Holmes?” Olivia asked, looking up from her plate of noodles to look at Sherlock.

“Yes, what is it,” Sherlock asked, still staring at the piece of chicken wedged in between his chopsticks. His finger suddenly twitched, making the chicken fall back down onto the tray. Sherlock stared at it for a long moment before sighing in defeat and picking up a fork to replace the infuriating chopsticks.

“Well…” Olivia said, looking back at John, who urged her on with a warm smile. “The girls in my class are all getting together with Mrs. Lauri to have a tea party Friday afternoon with their mummies, and…well, since I don’t have one of those, I was wondering if you would like to go with me…?”

Sherlock shoved the piece of chicken into his mouth (at last) and stared thoughtfully at the television as he chewed. He swallowed, pressing his lips together as he looked down at Olivia.

“What time is it at?” he inquired.

“Four in the afternoon,” Olivia replied hopefully. Sherlock looked at John, who was staring him down with a look that clearly read: _If you say no to our little girl I’ll make you pay dearly…!_ Sherlock refrained from rolling his eyes as he muttered:

“Fine.”

“What was that?” Olivia asked, a smile already tugging at the corner of her little mouth. Sherlock looked away from John and smiled as warmly as he could manage at her.

“I will go to the tea party with you, Olivia,” he acquiesced, immediately dropping his smile and rolling his eyes when she hugged him tight. “Just so we’re clear, though, I am _not_ wearing a dress!”

Olivia giggled as she let go of Sherlock. “Of course you’re not, Daddy, you’re a _boy_!”

John could not stop himself from cracking at that last innocent comment, earning him a look of sheer annoyance from Sherlock as he dramatically shoved another piece of chicken into his mouth.

~•~•☺•~•~

John trudged down the stairs that night after tucking Olivia into bed for the night, smiling at the memory of her excitement when Sherlock agreed to go to her tea party with her. He was still smiling when he entered the living room, making Sherlock glance up from his laptop.

“What are you so happy about?” the detective inquired. John simply smiled wider at him.

“Oh, nothing at all,” he said, turning into the kitchen. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, typing for a brief moment before pressing enter and leaning back in the chair he was seated in. “Lestrade phoned.”

“He got everything locked-up, I suppose,” John commented as he set the kettle to boil. Sherlock nodded, tossing his head back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Everything about that one was too predictable,” he said dully. “I need another case. _Now_.”

“You _always_ need another case,” John said as the kettle whistled. “Ever consider prolonging the ones you receive to make them last a bit longer?”

“I _did_ do that,” Sherlock complained. “I had all the information I needed before ever examining the footprint and fingerprint dustings. I did that simply for entertainment.”

John froze.

“…So you’re saying you made the police wait a whole four hours before finally divulging all the information?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sherlock…”

“Oh, don’t give me your ‘morality’ speech, John,” Sherlock said exasperatedly. “It’s not as if people’s lives were endangered further by doing so. They were just paintings.”

“Paintings older than both of our ages put together,” John muttered, handing Sherlock a steaming mug and taking the seat across from him with his own tea. “Anything to keep you from being bored.”

“Absolutely,” Sherlock said, sipping at his tea. They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment after that, taking pleasure in the simplicity of the evening, with both of them home and without a case for once. John looked across at Sherlock, observing the man’s thoughtful expression as he spoke:

“You’re going to enjoy yourself and you know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock replied, refusing to look at John as the man smirked.

“Oh yes you do,” John chastised the dark-haired man. “You think the whole idea of a parent-child party is stupid and mundane, Olivia and I both know that much. But don’t lie to yourself, Sherlock; deep down you’re excited to have the opportunity to spend some quality time with her—even if it is at a tea party.”

“ _Tea party_ ,” Sherlock murmured, wrinkling his nose at the thought. John laughed softly, setting his cup down upon the table to the left of him and rising from the chair. He crossed the room over to Sherlock in all of three steps, standing in between the consulting detective’s long legs and looking down at him with a knowing smile as he took his face in his hands.

“You’re such a good Daddy,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock softly on the lips. Sherlock paused, then also smiled against John’s mouth, wrapping his arms around his torso, effectively disabling him from breaking away from him as he deepened the kiss. He felt John’s hands fall from their place around his face to his neck, cupping the tickled skin lovingly with one hand as the fingers of his other entwined themselves into his curly hair.

“…I think it’s about time I remind you of how good of a husband I can be, as well,” Sherlock whispered against John’s cheek, smiling as he felt the man quiver in pleasure at the sound of his hushed baritone tones in his ear. “Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

John yanked Sherlock out of his chair and against him, trailing his palms down the man’s back and upon his deliciously prominent butt cheeks.

“Oh god, yes,” John hissed, grabbing Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock grinned mischievously down at his partner as he hurriedly led him out of the living room and away from their now-discarded mugs of tea.

~•~•☺•~•~

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” Olivia said, trundling down the stairs excitedly. Sherlock opened his eyes, lifting his head from the armrest of the couch to look at his daughter. “Get up!” she said, grabbing his hand and attempting to yank him off of the sofa. Sherlock rubbed his eyes, glancing around the room for his phone.

“What time is it?” he inquired.

“Three,” Olivia informed him, giving up on pulling him to his feet with a huff. “The tea party’s at four,” she reminded him.

“That’s today…” Sherlock said absentmindedly. With a huff he stood, adjusting his loose, lazy t-shirt and looking down at his daughter, a crooked smile sweeping across his face.

“Well then,” he said, scooping her up into his arms and making his way towards the stairs leading up to her bedroom. “Unless you want to drink tea in your pajamas, we should go pick out a dress for you to wear.”

Olivia’s closet never suffered since she was a well-endowed little girl, being constantly doted upon not just by her fathers but also by the loving landlady, Mrs. Hudson as well as Sherlock and John’s elder siblings, who reconnected with the two of them if only just to spend time with their little sweetheart of a child. Olivia picked her favorite dress out of her entire wardrobe for the day’s event—a light blue tea-length silken dress with a properly-fluffed bow tied around the back. Sherlock smiled in approval at her choice, appreciating how the gown complimented her bright aquamarine eyes. He excused himself to allow her privacy to get dressed and to go downstairs and get himself ready as well, for he too was still wearing his loose pajama pants and grungy shirt beneath his robe.

_Knock.Knock.Knock._

“Daddy?” Olivia asked, slowly opening the door to her fathers’ bedroom just a crack, peering in cautiously in case he was still changing. “Are you dressed yet?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, taking hold of the door and pulling it open. Olivia smiled brightly at the sight of him.

“We match!” she said excitedly. Sherlock finished tucking in his light blue dress shirt and strolled over to his daughter’s side, holding the sleeve up to her dress to double check if he had the right shade of blue.

“Yes, this will do nicely,” he said with a nod when the colors matched up, walking away and out of the room to straighten his collar up in the bathroom mirror. Olivia watched Sherlock as he stood up straight and ran his fingers briskly through his curls, straightening them out to a satisfactory tameness before grabbing his black suit jacket and exiting the bathroom.

“Let’s do something with your hair, too,” he muttered as he led Olivia out of the bedroom and back towards the bathroom. Olivia giggled as her father teased her curls the same way he teased his, pulling her comb and a matching blue hair ribbon out of the drawers below the sink when he merely managed to frizz her already poufy hair even more. Between the two of them, they managed to tame Olivia’s mane and pull half of it back into the lovely ribbon, her spiral curls falling gracefully down her back across the dress’ light material.

“Too bad I don’t have any make-up,” the little girl commented as she dug around the drawers for the package of lip gloss Molly Hooper had given her for her birthday. Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her in the mirror.

“You’re beautiful enough without any,” he said with a quick smile, watching her apply the glittery lip stuff in amusement. He checked his watch; 3:47pm.

“We need to get going if we’re going to make it on time,” Sherlock spoke as Olivia replaced her lip gloss in it respective drawer.

“Since when do you care about punctuality?” Olivia inquired, looking at her Daddy Holmes with a knowing look. Sherlock looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

“Good vocabulary,” he praised her, leading her out of the bathroom. “And who said I didn’t care about timeliness?”

“Daddy Watson,” Olivia said matter-of-factly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Of course he would,” he murmured, but the look on his face was one of fondness rather than mirth. “Well, I’ll make an exception for today’s afternoon tea.”

“Sounds good to me,” Olivia said as they walked into the living room and slipped their coats on.

“Good,” Sherlock said, checking the time once more before they made their way down the stairs and out to fetch a cab. “Matthews Arboretum,” Sherlock commanded the cabbie as he held the door open for Olivia, sliding in next to her as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

 _Here we go_ …

~•~•☺•~•~

Flowers, everywhere; Sherlock groaned inwardly at the fragrant sight of the arboretum. Sure, it was lovely to look at, and the scent of all the fresh blooms was heavenly to say the least…but Sherlock could not help but think, _if walking into this place wearing this pastel shirt doesn’t scream ‘gay,’ I don’t know what will._ He nearly rolled his eyes at the thought of how John would react to such a comment; doubtless he would howl with laughter at Sherlock’s situation. But he would also remind him that he was doing this for his little girl, that the shirt was baby blue because her dress was, and that he was there to spend time with her and be a properly doting father. After paying the cab, he turned and looked down at his positively glowing daughter and smiled, thinking: _every little princess needs her prince._

“Shall we?” Sherlock asked her, offering her his arm in a very gentlemanly manner, making her giggle with pleasure as she clung onto him, already seeming like she was having the time of her life just being with him.

Of course Sherlock knew he would be the only father there with his little girl, but that still did not prepare him for the look of surprise he received from all of the other mothers and girls at the round table placed in a rose-surrounded gazebo. The children’s faces broke out into smiles as they greeted their classmate, urging forth friendly smiles from their mother’s as well as Sherlock and Olivia approached the table.

“Olivia, so glad you made it,” Mrs. Lauridsen—who herself sported a nice tea-length floral dress and sunhat—greeted the beaming little girl with a warm embrace, inviting her to take a seat at the table with the others. As Olivia tittered past, the teacher turned and greeted Sherlock with an equally genuine smile.

“You must be Mr. Holmes, then,” she said, extending a hand, to which he shook politely.

“Sherlock Holmes, pleasure,” he said with a nod, replacing his hands in his pockets. “Doubtless you’ve met my husband before.”

“Yes, Dr. Watson was the one who came to Olivia’s last open house if my memory serves me correctly,” she said, looking over to where all the little girls were gathered around a garden of tulips, looking with awe at a couple of butterflies that saw fit to flutter their way. “I’m glad you could make it to this event, though, Mr. Holmes; I finally got a chance to meet and chat with you.”

Sherlock observed this woman, trying to deduce whether she was in fact genuinely interested in making his acquaintance or was simply curious to meet John Watson’s other half. To his surprise, however, he found her to be quite the opposite of the usual condescending crowd, treating his relationship with John as though it were any normal heterosexual marriage. He stood a little taller at this deduction, finding that he had discovered newfound respect for the woman that had been teaching Olivia all year long and suddenly glad he had come to the tea party after all.

Tea was served promptly at four, with a nice fruity punch alternative for the mothers that disapproved of their daughters drinking tea at such a young age; needless to say, Olivia tucked into her tea with two lumps of sugar, happily copying her Daddy Holmes to her heart’s content. Sherlock was impressed at the amount of planning the young teacher had put into this little gathering, bringing her own matching tea sets over to the arboretum for the little thirteen-person gathering. The table setting was complete with plates of tasty-looking biscuits, scones and various other sweet pastries, to which the little girls were delighted to nibble at. Olivia looked at her Daddy, a knowing look upon her face. Sherlock eyed her curiously as he set his tea cup down.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You have to eat at least one biscuit, Daddy,” she said, wagging her little finger at him in a very John Watson-ly way. Sherlock chuckled as he reached over and took a scone from a nearby platter, biting into it and shooting his daughter a funny cross-eyed look as he chewed on it.

After the children had their fair share of sugary snacks and tea/punch, they ran off to play and giggle around the gazebo.

“That’s really neat that your dad came with you to the tea party,” one of Olivia’s friends commented. Olivia looked back at her and smiled.

Meanwhile, back at the table the mothers and Mrs. Lauridsen were delving deep into the gossip of the school community, fully entertaining themselves with talking about others. Sherlock himself was entertained just by observing their conversations, finding their fascination with such mundane habits beyond amusing. He took mental notes about each woman as well, refraining from smirking as he figured out just how many of them were currently being unfaithful to their spouses in the midst of their happy facades—

“Mr. Holmes?” one of the women piped up, drawing Sherlock back into their conversation with a rapid blink of the eye.

“Yes, sorry,” he said, redirecting his attention to the short-haired brunette that had addressed him. _Bored. Overweight. Seasonal allergies are bothering her slightly and she is sleep-deprived on top of that...the husband did not return home the previous evening, which is why her actual wedding band is absent from her left hand. Her engagement ring is still there, however…have to keep up the illusion somehow…_

“What is it that you do?” she urged politely. All of the other women were quietly awaiting his answer as well, doubtlessly wondering what the single father ( _I wonder if Mrs. Lauridsen had informed them of my husband…most likely not, or else they’d be even more skeptical than they already are…_ ) at the tea party was made of. Sherlock pressed his lips together and answered: “I’m a consulting detective.”

“Consulting?” a auburn-haired woman from the other side of the table asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Is that like a private eye of some sort?”

“Not exactly,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat softly as he made a mental note to be as polite as possible in order to keep from embarrassing his daughter. _May as well play their game_. “Private eyes get hired on by individuals or large companies who pay them a pre-prescribed sum for their work. What I do is essentially the same but I do it voluntarily, thus giving me free reign over which cases I can choose to take and which I refuse. Mostly I work with the police, assisting them whenever they are at their wit’s end—which is always—though I’ve been known to take on outside cases from people or companies who find me through mine or my husband’s websites. Often times the more private cases are what brings in the money; it is truly astonishing how much some people would pay.”

Sherlock took a sip from his tea, suppressing a smile of triumph over causing the dead silence that fell over the table. _I lost them at ‘my husband’s…’ this should be interesting. I’m not bored anymore._ As expected, when he looked up every woman was looking at him (except for Mrs. Lauridsen, who had taken it upon herself to nonchalantly chew on a biscuit).  

“Your husband…?” the auburn-haired woman that had spoken before said, blinking in surprise. Sherlock nodded, unfazed.

“Yes; his blog really is what gets me—well, us, he does assist me quite a bit in my cases as well—all of my clients.”

“It really is quite the brilliant read,” Mrs. Lauridsen piped up fondly, causing all of the mother’s eyes to fall back upon her. “’The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson.’ If you ladies get the chance to when you get home, you should really give it a look. Amazing stuff, Sherlock and John’s cases.”

“I may just do that,” a blonde sitting to the left of Sherlock said, shooting him a generally interested smile. Sherlock returned her smile, thinking as he did: _doesn’t she know it is pointless to flirt with a happily married man…? Especially one that would not be the least bit dazed by the size of her breasts…_

“I haven’t seen you at many school events, Mr. Holmes,” the mother sitting directly to the right of Mrs. Lauridsen spoke up. Sherlock looked at her and replied:

“Yes, unfortunately John is much more adamant about attending school functions than I am,” he admitted, looking thoughtfully towards his daughter. “I’d like to change that, though,” he added thoughtfully, encouraging smiles from three other moms with his sentimental statement.

_Not bad, Holmes. Not bad at all._

He soon got bored again and excused himself from the table, looking around for his little girl to see what she was up to. She was back over by the tulips, chasing butterflies with two other girls. Olivia saw him looking towards her and gestured for Sherlock to come over there.

“Take a picture of me and Alexis with the tulips, Daddy!” she said. Sherlock smiled as they ran in front of where the little garden plot began, extracting his smart phone from his pocket and snapping a couple of pictures of the two. Some of the moms from back at the table saw him do this and quickly got up, pulling their camera phones out of their pockets too.

“Mr. Holmes,” the flirty blonde from the previous conversation said, approaching the detective. “Would you mind taking a picture of me with my daughter by the rose bushes?”

“Sure,” Sherlock said, following her and her pink-clad bouncing girl to the flowers in question.

Photos were being snapped all over the arboretum, accompanied by the sounds of women gushing over the sheer adorableness of their little girl’s outfits or the beauty of the gardens. An attendant for the facility was ushered over to take a group shot of them all, and Sherlock forced a smile onto his face after receiving a knowing look from his far too intelligent daughter. After the rest of the party began to disperse, Mrs. Lauridsen approached Sherlock and Olivia.

“Would you like me to take a picture of you two?” she offered, holding out her palm for Sherlock’s cell phone. Sherlock looked down at Olivia, who nodded eagerly.

“That’d be great, thanks,” he said as he handed over the phone. Olivia led him over by the patch of tulips she had been playing by all afternoon. Sherlock turned and knelt down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Mrs. Lauridsen raised the phone up and counted to three.

This time his smile came naturally.

Mrs. Lauridsen looked down at the phone as Sherlock and Olivia curiously approached; when she managed to pull up the picture she had just taken, she chuckled lightly. “Oh, this is a cute one,” she cooed. Sherlock looked over her shoulder to examine the picture; their light blue outfits coordinated quite well with the backdrop of cream and white-colored tulips, and both Olivia and Sherlock managed to smile nicely for once. But then Sherlock saw what got Olivia’s teacher laughing. Perched lightly atop his right shoulder was a black and dark blue butterfly. Olivia gasped in delight at the sight, making sure to excitedly point it out to her father, who merely smiled at the somehow perfect timing of the picture.

Soon after the mini photo-shoot they were saying their goodbyes, politely thanking Mrs. Lauridsen for inviting them all to this wonderful idea of a get together. To his surprise, a couple of the mothers came up to thank Sherlock for joining them that afternoon.

“It just really warms my heart,” the short-haired brunette said honestly. “You really are quite the dedicated father.”

“I’m glad I appear that way to you all,” Sherlock said with a nod, holding Olivia close to his side. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Of course, in reality Sherlock Holmes could not give any less of a damn to what people think of his parenting choices, but he knew that it would please John to hear that the outing was a success. Sherlock even had to force himself to admit that he may have slightly enjoyed himself. Between the sheer entertainment of gossipy young mothers and the time he spent with Olivia, he had to say that in the end he was glad to have agreed to go to the damn tea party. _John will never let me live that down if I tell him,_ he thought, and then smiled to himself when he suddenly realized that he did not care. If anything, John would find this rare moment of sentiment coming from Sherlock to be a welcome surprise.

Sherlock offered his arm out to Olivia once more as they hailed a cab to take them home.

“Did you have fun?” Sherlock asked his daughter as he held the door open for her once more.

“Tons,” she said, stars in her eyes. “But what about _you_?” she demanded, grabbing at his arm as he tried to buckle her up. “Did _you_ enjoy yourself?”

Sherlock smiled sweetly at his daughter.

“I did,” he said honestly. “I really did.”

~•~•☺•~•~

“I _told_ you it wouldn’t be that terrible,” John said, grabbing his and Sherlock’s used tea mugs from the cluttered kitchen table and taking them to the sink. It was just past nine; exhausted from a day of cookies and playing, Olivia had taken to bed a bit early for the weekend, asking specifically for Daddy Holmes to tuck her in tonight. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s comment.

“You were right once out of how many times?”

“Shove it,” John said as he rinsed out the mugs. Sherlock huffed, then quickly rose from his seat as he remembered something.

“I took pictures,” he informed John as he pulled the photographs from earlier up on his phone for John to look through. “The last one is the best.”

“I like this one with her teacher, that’s a nice smile she has here,” John said, abandoning the dishes to smile fondly down at the pictures of his daughter. He swiped through the five or six photos, taking time to look thoroughly at each one. Sherlock could tell when he reached the last one due to the exponential growth of his smile.

“What do you think?” Sherlock asked, smiling a little bit himself. “I thought it was a really good picture of us, personally—“

“Do you have any idea how gay this photo looks, Sherlock?” John said as he finally cracked, doubling over in laughter as Sherlock snatched the phone away from his cackling husband.

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” the detective demanded. John caught his breath, smiling cheekily at Sherlock.

“I meant nothing by it,” he explained, wiping his eye as he chuckled lightly. “It’s just…between the baby blue shirt and the butterfly—“

“It’s _light blue_ , thank you,” Sherlock said, his cheeks flushing slightly as he stowed his phone back into his pocket. “And the butterfly was not exactly planned, you know.”

“Aw,” John said, placing a hand upon his husband’s pinked cheek. “Ok, I’m done making fun of you; let me see it one more time.”

“No.”

“Don’t be a child, Sherlock,” John chastised, slipping his hand deep into Sherlock’s pants pocket and stealing the phone away himself. Sherlock watched as he scrolled back through the photos and found the one of just him and Olivia. This time John merely smiled down at their smiling faces.

“You’re right,” he said. “This really is a fantastic photo of the two of you.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock said.

“We should get it printed and framed,” John said, looking up into Sherlock’s face. Sherlock pondered the idea.

“Can we Photoshop the butterfly out of it?”

“Absolutely not,” John said, unable to hold back a laugh at Sherlock’s disgruntled expression.

~•~•☺•~•~


End file.
